A New Beginning
by Caitriona O'Seaghdha
Summary: Thorn is attempting to make a new life in Bree, and this is the chronicle of her journey. My roleplaying character on LotRO. Also published on Laurelin Archives.


Thorn collapsed belly first on her bed, face pressed into the worn quilt spread over it. Debating on whether or not undressing was worth the trouble she finally pushed herself up and began unlacing her mud caked boots. The drying dust knocked loose by her fingers, scattered on the floor and she frowned at it.

"Suppose you'll be cleaning tomorrow...fine way to spend the day off."

Tossing her boots in the corner she flung her shirt and pants after it, rummaging through her dresser for something cleaner.

Something thumped to the floor as she pulled out a long shirt, a leather bound book landing at her feet.

Thorn stared at it for a long while, before bending slowly to pick it up. The worn cover held no decoration beyond a fine rim of braid around the edges. Her fingers hovered lightly over the cover. She had tried so hard to shove the past away. Why did she bother hanging on to this?

Hesitating she flipped the book open. Staring back at her were pages of her own writing. The first few leaves were rough attempts at writing and spelling, gradually getting better. Thorn smiled lightly to herself as she looked at the progression. She had been so determined she was going to write and read as a child. As she began to actually read the words, though, he smile faded. Memories of an unhappier time flooded her mind's eye and she roughly shoved the book away from her, picking up the shirt and yanking it on.

She flung the sheets of her bed down, intent on a nights sleep, the days events reeling through her mind. Climbing in the bed, Thorn was about to pull the quilts up when her eye strayed back to the book. She sat cross legged with her hands in her lap staring at it, lying on the floor where it had fallen.

Finally, Thorn pulls herself out of the bed and picks the journal up. Laying it on the bed, she opens another drawer and carefully pulls out a bottle of ink and a quill.

Sitting cross legged on the quilts, Thorn rests the open diary on her thigh, the first blank page looking back up at her, waiting for her thoughts to be spilled onto it. Dipping the tip of the quill into the ink, she nibbled the end of the feather, thinking about where to start. New beginnings, she decided, were as much worth the writing as the old life had been...

Dated in May, nearly a year ago.

 _I've pulled this out by accident, but maybe it's time. Things have changed so much in the past year. So much...I hardly know where to begin._

 _I can't bear to write about the past now. I've left it behind for something better and I see no point in bringing up painful thoughts. So I'll begin with my new life._

 _I've rented a house in Starkglen, not all that far from Bree. It needs a lot of work, but I'm not here often enough to manage it now. I mostly just needed a place to sleep when I am here. The Pony was to noisy and crowded and I felt uneasy even sleeping with a knife under my pillow._

 _I've been trying to keep up a constant steam if supply work. Several of the merchants in town are letting me run their goods now. Mostly bringing supplies and wares from the Lonelands. It's getting to be dangerous work and well paid. Goblins are haunting the marshes to the east, attacking the caravans. I've seen a few. More than I want to by far. Strange to think, when you're sitting in the tavern over a glass of wine and some of Barliman's stew that creatures so foul are running free over the green hills of Breeland. Yet they are...they and worse things lurk at the borders._

 _I've spent my free evenings and days in the Pony, drinking and listening to the tales of other travelers. A few, I've made closer acquaintance with, and I suppose now would be the time to write of them._

 _The first two, I met on the same night together, and so I'll begin with them. I had settled in a chair near the front fire and nearly set my glass of wine in the lap of a small child, as I thought her to be. She had curled up near the shadows of the hearth, sketching on a sheet of rough paper. A tiny, dark haired, pale skinned girl, dressed all in black except for a bit of scarlet here and there. The picture she was working on was a bit dismal in my eyes, but well done, a sketch of a bare tree with a skeleton at its foot. I had startled her, and she me, when I went to put my glass down, and she jumped giving me a glare. I apologized. Her voice gave away the fact that she was much older than she appeared, maybe around 18 even though her body was so small. Not a very talkative creature, but I learned her name was Ynigma. She warmed up a bit as we talked about her artwork, but moved back to her corner as I was approached by someone else._

 _This person was a yellow haired young man whom I have seen several times of an evening in the Pony, harping for the crowd. He has very skilled fingers when it comes to music, more than a few coins being tossed his way. Revio came to thank me for a glass of ale I had set at his feet in payment for the music, and we ended up chatting for a long while. He was born in Dale, but fled (I gathered) and has been harping to support himself in the Pony. He was interesting to talk to and even managed to lure Ynigma out of her corner for a moment. I've had a few visits with both of them since, each so different, but enjoyable all the same. It's nice to keep the company I choose for a change..._

 _So I've passed a few weeks and met a few other folks. None that have returned for a second night to the Pony though. Ynigma seems to have latched onto me, though she'll hold herself indifferent at best most times. I get the occasional quick hug, or she'll crawl into my lap for a few moments. I think maybe, her life has been worse than mine in ways._

 _I met a new person tonight, who I'll describe now, since he seems rather interesting and I owe him the late homecoming and headache I now have._

 _There's a barrel standing near the edge of the counter top in the Pony that I have a habit of sitting on. It's not the most comfortable of seats, but it faces the door and has a wall to my back. Anymore, that's how I fancy..._

 _I have to admit, business has been rather bad the past few days and I've been running low on coin. Last ditch effort I thought maybe I'd try my old ways. At least I could choose who I approached, though it makes me sick to my stomach to think of it. I walked in and jumped up on my barrel, nearly knockiing the hat off a man in the process. A rather odd hat, on the head of a rather gruff, but handsome man. He turned around fairly quickly and gave me a look, and I apologized. He didn't seem to angry about it, and so I thought, why not? First man to ever turn me down for a night's company. Maybe that's why I kept talking to him when he offered me a drink._

 _We moved to the back of the room to an empty table, and instead of buying a drink, he pulled out a flask of the stuff he and his brother evidently make. Valar, but it was strong. One or two sips is all I had...fiery stuff that. Talking to him further I found out his name was Rick, Rick Cobb. I was enjoying talking to him, just light things, our work, where we lived, nothing bordering on the past, when we were interrupted by a highly agitated hobbit by the name of Wilrick. Sir Wilrick...Yes. A hobbit who called himself Sir. As in a knight. Apparently the poor fellow (who I had met before and always bows and calls me miss Lady Thornblossom, despite my insistence that I am not a lady) had bitten off a bit more than he could chew when it came to one of the brigands that hang around Bree. He came looking for assistance from Rick, who used to be on the Bree Watch. We trooped out after the hobbit, I offering to help though I wasn't sure how much I could be. Down the hill to Beggar's Alley, into one of the side streets we came upon the fellow who had threatened the poor hobbit with skinning him alive. Rick seems to be a peaceful fellow for all his surly looks. He did everything he could to try to get the criminal to come off to the jail quietly (the man was wanted for a few small crimes), but in the end the big fellow ran at Rick in a futile attempt to get away. Rick fired his crossbow at the same time I threw a dagger. The arrow struck his shoulder and my dagger hilted in his thigh, completely disabling him, although his fell on Rick and reopened a wound on his arm. Nessya, one of the Watch, happened to be on patrol and helped take the man in. I followed them to the jail and helped Rick re bandage the wolfs bite that had begun bleeding, before saying my farewells for the night. Poor Wilrick is still in a state of panic I think._

 _And so here I lay, in the late watches, writing with a headache fiercer than any I've had before...following men and hobbits into back alleys. Just who do you think you are Thorn? A mercenary? Not likely I'll ever be that adventurous. Still...I also never thought it likely I'd get away from...But here I am._

 _I've held my eyes open long enough. I_ will _write again though. Happier times. I'll set them down just as I did the bad ones._

Thorn blots the ink with a scrap of flannel, staring down at the fresh black stains. So different from her old life already.

Yawning widely, she set the book and ink in the floor, curling up in the blankets to sleep, her hand curled around a dagger under her pillow.


End file.
